Jason Knows 26 Ways to Use a Flip Phone as a Weapon
by helpivefallenandicantgetup
Summary: In which Jason has a question, Bruce is tired, Dick is tired, Tim is basically asleep, Damian is annoyed, and Alfred is a being of pure chaos.


Jason tossed his hood in the general direction of the table and flopped over the arm of the chair. Dangling his head over the other arm, he could see an upside-down Alfred descending the green-carpeted stairs to the living room, a tray of what looked like granola bars balanced expertly on one hand. Seriously. A silver tray. Of granola bars. Who _did_ that? Jason was half-convinced Alfred did this sort of stuff just to mess with their heads. Bastard.

Speaking of ancient bastards, Bruce was right behind him, flopping with a bit less emphasis on the couch (the right way, not sideways). The guy looked as bone-tired as Jason himself was. It'd been a rough night. Seriously, Arkham needed actual security. Or couldn't they just build more facilities to spread out the dangerous prisoners? Or something? This got ridiculous a _long_ time ago. It said a lot about Jason's exhaustion that he'd actually agreed to help Bruce and then come back to the manor with him without life-threatening injury and of his own free will. Oh, if Dickiebird could see him now...

Alfred managed to catch Jason's eye despite his own upraised nose and the other's state of upside-down-ness, then cast a disapproving look at the helmet on the ground next to the antique coffee table. Jason groaned and stumbled to his feet to pick it up and place it on the table. He may be crazy, but he wasn't an idiot, and Alfred was _terrifying._

The silence was getting a little awkward as Alfred set the tray down and primly took the last remaining armchair, so Jason reluctantly recognized that it fell to him to defuse the tension. As usual. Luckily, he was _very good_ at running his mouth. It was one of his top ten skills. He liked to think he gave even Big Bird, the supreme blatherer himself, a run for his money. Although Damian might be worse than either of them, just in a different way. "So, I finally understand why you noble types like the underwear-over-pants look. It's a lot easier to fight Ivy when she keeps getting distracted by your assets, right?"

Bruce blinked, which for him was the equivalent of a spit take. "Jason, _why."_

"No, seriously! I distinctly saw her lose control of a vine like, three times before I dropped in to help. You should lose the cape more often. Take a lesson from Nightwing: he always seems to know how to strategically rip his uniform without sustaining actual damage."

"So you were there, watching, for more than twenty minutes while I fought Ivy." As if the old man didn't know everything.

"Well, yeah, 'cause it was hilarious.Now _you_ know what it's like. Bad guys were _always_ making comments when I was Robin, and the shorts definitely didn't help. But sure, range of motion is _sooo_ important. You're a billionaire, B. It's called Lululemon."

Alfred laughed lightly. "Master Jason, be careful what you suggest. Based on what I've heard from Miss Brown, we would be bankrupt in a month."

Jason finally found the right angle to peel the shiny silver plastic off of one of the granola bars and bit down with a loud _crunch._ Alfred looked nervous. Guy might've killed more people than any of them and yet he probably had nightmares about crumbs.

Jason mulled over what he'd been saying earlier as he chewed. There was that time with Mr. Freeze, and Penguin had always given him a weird vibe–"Hey, wait," he began through a mouthful of half-chewed chia seeds and raisins. "A disproportionate number of our enemies were creeps, and not just in the generic Gotham way." He swallowed quickly after catching Alfred's eye again, then went on in a less garbled fashion. "And you were always having me go in ahead as a distraction . . . ?"

He sat up straight and gasped. "Robin is Batman's pedo-bait!"

Bruce's "appalled" face was hilarious. Jason was proud of his ability to bring it out more often than anyone. "Jason, that's not true and you know it," the older man growled.

Jason whipped out his flip phone. "Oh, really? Let's see what Dickiebird thinks."

"Master Jason, I'm sure Master Dick is very busy–"

Jason put the phone on speaker.

The tinny ringing ended, and a very groggy-sounding Dick Grayson grated out, "Jason, it's six in the goddamn morning–"

Jason interrupted with a maniacal grin. "Dick, is Robin Batman's pedo-bait?" Bruce sighed audibly.

Dick didn't miss a beat. "Yes. One hundred percent. That's why the costume looks like the paradoxical lovechild of a traffic light and the two least talented Wiggles."

Bruce's exhausted "Dick . . ." was almost as good as his "appalled" face. Jason might be the best at eliciting _that_ particular emotion, but Dick definitely won in the "exhausting" department.

Dick's voice was now positively chirpingthrough the speakers. "Yeah, do you _know_ how many times a villain actually _interrupted_ a _fight_ to make a comment about my ass? So many times!"

Jason unexpectedly felt the need to interject. "To be fair, _I_ make a lot of comments about your ass. Literally everyone we know except Bruce and Alfred makes comments about your ass."

"Hey, it's not my fault I've got a great ass."

"Aaaand that's my cue to hang up." Jason flipped his phone shut and turned back to Bruce, grinning triumphantly. "See? Goldie knows it, I know it. It's time you just accept it, B."

Bruce just glowered.

And then Alfred surprised them both. ". . . Call Master Tim."

Bruce let out a betrayed "Alfred!" Jason choked, then started cackling. If he didn't know better, he'd swear there was a hint of a smile playing up one side of the old butler's face.

Tim waited until the absolute last second to pick up with a bleary-sounding "Hello?"

"Timbers, is Robin Batman's pedo-bait?"

Jason could practically hear Tim blinking owlishly. "Well, that's one way to wake a guy up."

Jason glanced at Bruce out of the corner of his eye. Despite his earlier objections, the man looked smug. Tim was the intelligent, responsible son. He wouldn't play along.

"Answer the question, Replacement."

"Uh, no?" Bruce was smirking. "I mean we were really more like . . . child soldiers?" Bruce stopped smirking. Tim seemed too tired to process humor. "Then again unless you're like . . . the demon brat . . . a, like, preteen isn't very useful in the . . . in the . . . the thing, what's the . . . the _field._ And I did end up being a . . . a distraction a lot? So I guess . . . I guess . . . hmm. That's . . . immensely unsettling." He sounded woebegone, like he'd just realized Santa wasn't real.

Bruce's disgruntled face was the best thing Jason had ever seen. In between snorts he managed to choke out, "Go to sleep, Replacement," before hanging up. One more to go.

Bruce read his intention in his eyes. "No. You are not contacting Damian about this." He made a halfhearted grab for the phone, but Jason just flipped over the chair and was halfway across the room in two seconds. Bruce eyed him with malevolent apathy. Alfred, like the god of chaos he was, stuck his nose in the air and looked supremely impassive.

One ring. "Speak," snapped a young voice.

"Damian, is Robin Batman's pedo-bait?"

There was a long, _heavy_ sigh on the other end. Seriously–it lasted a full four seconds. Jason was impressed in spite of himself. "Todd, I don't have _time_ for your asinine games," the youngest grumbled. "Is Grayson there? He's usually just intelligent enough to at least _translate_ your idiocy."

Going by the earlier classification system, Damian was definitely the infuriating son. Tim was the one you were always just a little bit worried about. "Big Bird's in Blüd, but he already answered the question."

Someone faintly said, "Hey, dude, who're you talking to? Is that your _girlf_ –" and then there was a scrabbling noise, a _thud,_ and the sounds of a brief tussle. Somebody yelled. Damian grunted. Jason thought he heard a faint shout of _"Holy shit he stabbed me!"_ Maybe the Titans were in a fight and Damian had just set his phone to reroute calls through his comms. Hopefully.

Bruce looked concerned. Huh, maybe _Damian_ was the concerning son, not Tim. The man actually got up and walked over to Jason to speak into the mic. "Damian, status."

Jason faintly heard Damian's characteristic scornful "–tt–" sound, and then the youngest Robin was back on the mic. "Apologies, Father. I had to settle an . . . internecine conflict. I am unharmed."

Jason snatched the phone back and danced away to flop down on the chair previously occupied by Bruce. "Brat, I know how much you love assaulting your teammates, but we're _so close_ to a Robin consensus on this. Steph's a given. Is Robin Batman's pedo-bait or not?"

There was a pause, and then Damian grumbled, "I do not see the importance of pedestrians to the function of Robin."

Jason _choked._ "Wait, hold up. Are you telling me _Damian Wayne,_ the _actual spawn of Satan,_ middle school assassin-vigilante, doesn't know what a pedophile is?!"

"I must have missed that class, like you missed the one on how to dodge crowbars."

Bruce and Alfred both stiffened. Heh. "Ouch. I'll take that from you, kid, but only because you're another dead Robin. Pedos are adults who get hot to trot over little kids."

The Demon Brat's tone was reflective. "Oh. I have injured some of them very badly."

Jason believed it. "You know, I'm going to let you off the hook for the question because you were the only Robin who was actually legitimately useful starting out. You don't count."

He cut off the call midway through a squawk from the speaker. He could just imagine the conundrum the kid was in now: should he puff up at the acknowledgement of his superiority or bristle at being told he didn't count for something? Gotta keep them on their toes.

The Hood turned back to Bruce with a shit-eating grin. "Well, I guess it's decided. And be aware that I _will_ be warning any and all new Robins of that from now on." He eyed the other man's face closely, watched the corner of his mouth twitch ever-so-slightly.

(Not that Jason would ever admit it, but he liked making Bruce laugh, or at least making him _react._ He liked how much easier it was to do that these days, too. It seemed like more and more often lately the man was shrugging back into that quiet, sarcastic sense of humor he'd worn like an old coat when Jason had first entered this mess. It was a good look on him.)

Bruce sighed even heavier than Damian, if that was possible. He broke from his usual rigid posture to rub tiredly at the bridge of his nose. "Alfred, remind me to stop adopting. Why did I want kids, again?"

Alfred, without a doubt the evilest of them all, was _smirking._ Politely. "I'm quite sure I don't know, sir."


End file.
